


Mine From the Start

by nhpw



Series: Fire and the Flood [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Aftercare, Alternate Universe - BDSM, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Begging, Blow Jobs, Bottom Castiel, Boys Kissing, Brat Castiel, Butt Plugs, Castiel/Dean Winchester BDSM, Coming Untouched, Facials, Flogging, Kink Negotiation, Kissing, Kneeling, Light Bondage, M/M, Orgasm Delay, Past Bottom Dean, Post-Coital Cuddling, Potential for a sequel, Safe Sane and Consensual, Spanking, Sub Drop, Subspace, Top Benny, Top Dean, showering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-07
Updated: 2016-05-07
Packaged: 2018-06-06 23:24:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,675
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6774439
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nhpw/pseuds/nhpw
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel is a bratty submissive used to getting what he wants. Dean is a disciplined Dominant who promises to give him what he NEEDS.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mine From the Start

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: Bottom!Cas going to a kink club and meets Dean, one of the "entertainers" and immediately is drawn to him, lots of dirty talk and public touching until Dean can't take it anymore and drags him to a back room to have a little fun~
> 
> I played with this a little but all in all I'm very satisfied with how it turned out. As a submissive myself, it's always very important to me to represent good BDSM practices when I write it. As such, I sometimes accidentally soapbox a bit about good practice... sorry if it's noticeable in this fic. Rest assured Dean is a good, responsible Dominant who takes excellent care of his sub.
> 
> The ending is an "open ending." I invested a lot of time in world-building to write this, so I may very well return to play in this sandbox again. :)

Dean stands center stage and akimbo under show lighting, panning a slow, critical eye over the dungeon floor setup - one last tech survey before showtime.  And, as the saying goes, if you want something done right, you better do it yourself.

That isn't exactly true. Dean knows he has a great crew behind him - hand-picked and long-standing. Employee turnover has been virtually nil in the three years since Dean took over The Mark and appointed his most trusted partners to key positions. Partners… he smiles to himself and shakes his head. Who is he kidding? These are friends, maybe even family. He trusts them with everything - his secrets, his life, his livelihood.

But Kinkfest only comes once a year.

It's The Mark’s biggest event: Held annually, one weekend in the deep freeze of January, two weeks into the new year, where they are a premiere destination for kink practitioners all over the country. The doors are open for 48 hours straight. The main stage, where Dean stands now, requires advance reservation months ahead of the Fest. Time is sold in one-hour chunks and nearly always books solid in a matter of days. This year has pleasantly been no exception, despite a few hits of questionable press and a bit of head-butting with local officials. Dean has the final say of the schedule and sets it up as best he can to balance clinics, presenters and scening in a way that keeps attendees rotating in a somewhat predictable fashion.

From the stage, with the lights up, he can see the entire event floor. The layout is as always: A line of padded spanking benches stage-right; six St. Andrew’s Crosses spaced apart to allow the full extension of a standard whip; two height-variable lengths of chain extending from the ceiling with padded manacles attached; and an array of various restraint and punishment-effective pieces rounding out to stage left. Everything on the floor is first-come, first-serve, same as any night, and those wishing to scene with a consenting partner must bring their own toys. The Mark does the heavy lifting, but sharing toys is forbidden for health and safety reasons. If someone comes to play, they had better come prepared.

“How’s it lookin’ there, Chief?”

Benny’s voice draws Dean out of his thoughts and he spins to face his head of security. “Better with spotlighting,” he intones, but nods as he says it, indicating he’s mostly satisfied. “I’ll talk to Sam and Charlie, get them to dim these to just a single, nothing showy. The big boys don't like that shit anyway. Otherwise, yeah. Stage One and the floor are set and dressed. I’m gonna go have one last peek at the private spaces. How’s the crowd?”

“Frisky and freaky and ready as ever. Line formed two hours ago and stretches down around the block by now.”

“Good. Everybody street-legal?”

“Barely.”

“Barely? What the hell is ‘barely’? You know I don't want any more negative press, Benny.  _ Zero _ . The city's already breathing down my neck about so-called  _ moral decency _ and the only reason we get the Fest at all is ‘cause we make a big show out of the chunk of profits that goes to charity. So if ‘barely’ is any closer to ‘no’ than it ought to be, you swing back out there and give the boot to anyone not meeting the code, you got me?”

Benny could have said and done a lot of things in response to Dean’s rant, but he chooses to round on his boss, backing him forcefully against a cross that’s pulled to the back of the stage - out of the way, but handy. Dean gives an  _ oof _ as his back and head connect with the polished pine, but his eyes meet Benny's fiery glare as the security chief hisses low and close, “You’re pretty damn punchy, Cher. That doesn’t bode well for the night. Been a long time since I took you across my knee, but I ain’t opposed, you know that. You need a release before the doors open? Honest answers, boy, cuz I ain't gonna offer again.”

Dean closes his eyes, draws a couple of calming breaths, and after a long moment, shakes his head. “No,” he says, and then opens his eyes to again connect with Benny’s. “No Sir,” he says more clearly.

“Honorary ain’t necessary no more, Darlin’.”

“I know.” Dean gives a small smile as Benny releases his hold, allowing Dean to step away from the cross. “Not since I started wearing it myself, anyway.”

“Cheers to that. Still, you ever need to switch teams for a swing or two--”

“Oh, believe me, Benny. It wouldn’t be anybody but you.” He sighs and rubs his hands together as they exit the stage and prepare to part ways - Benny headed to survey the crowd and prepare for opening, and Dean to give one last check to the private rooms in the back.

Those have to be impeccable. At two grand an hour and by reservation only, these rooms house their highest rollers of the weekend. These clientele, in addition to being wealthy, also tend to be the most disciplined of the weekend’s attendees, and a far cry from The Mark’s usual crowd. They abide by strict BDSM protocols, come dressed to the nines or in full leather. Subs are always collared - most of them 24/7, though that’s none of Dean’s business when they’re not under his establishment’s roof - and usually don’t speak unless given express permission. Doms, conversely, are confident and well-composed. This group of Dominants holds itself to the gold standard of care. They embrace their role as Dominant from top to bottom - contracts and collars and care and companionship. They don’t just own their subs; their subs have given themselves over willingly, and between them, these couples, Dean sees nothing but love and trust.

It’s what Dean had had with Benny, once.

It’s what he longs to have now, with a submissive of his own.

_ Someday, Cher _ , Benny has said more than once. But Dean can’t be sure. This sort of relationship seems far beyond Dean’s reach, no matter how many subs he takes to his bed. Men, women, it doesn’t seem to matter - they’re drawn in by his confidence and his beauty, and probably by his position, for those who happened to know his real identity. They willingly submit to his authority for an evening, sometimes for a weekend, and on rare occasions, for a bit longer than that. But they’re there to satisfy a part of themselves - a part that craves sexual submission, perhaps an inner masochist who needs to be sated. The minute Dean implies he wished for more, wants more, is looking for a submissive who can give him _ the whole package, a true submissive, a partner _ … it’s over. And he’s alone until he can muster the confidence and desire to try again.

He sighs, again, pulling out of his own thoughts as he stands outside the first of nine private play spaces. He pulls the clipboard, checks the schedule - booked out through the weekend, same as he knows the others are, but he always checks in case there’s been a last-minute cancellation - and uses his master key to duck inside. He scans for anomalies, checks the mini-fridge, checks the bathroom, and then ducks out and repeats his motions verbatim in the next room. He continues down the row until he reaches the last door. It’s actually the tenth door, but this one, as expected, has no clipboard, because it has no schedule.

Because it’s his.

He steps inside and does the same walk-through as the others, because should he happen to bring someone back here to play - tonight, tomorrow, whenever - that person deserves the same privileges as all the others. That person deserves to be taken care of. That person, for whatever length of time, is his submissive and he won’t give them any less than his best.

Satisfied, he ducks out and reaches for his cell phone, punching up Sam and waiting three rings until his brother’s voice comes through, “Dude, we’re in the same building. You could’ve just come up.”

“No time, Sammy. We’re on a deadline. Doors open in thirty. I need you to settle down your lighting on Stage One as soon as  _ yesterday _ .”

“Well, Charlie and I thought--”

“No. Dial it back, Sam, I ain’t askin’. It illuminates the floor too much.”

“Fine.” There’s a pause, and some hushed conversation. Then, “Jerk.”

“Bitch,” Dean mutters without missing a beat, and hangs up with a satisfied punch of a button.

His next call is a dial to the kitchen, where Jo picks up with an informative, “I got two dozen french rolls in the hopper, Winchester, make it quick.”

“No respect for authority, huh?”

“Not yours, anyway. I’m busy, Dean, unless you’ve got something important--”

“Yeah, yeah. Have Ash run a care package up to my room when he’s got a minute, all right? And tell him I said he needs to find that minute before the doors open or it’s gonna be his ass.” He hangs up without saying goodbye and stalks to the front doors to take a glance at the crowd.

He doesn’t have a lot of time, but he does like to get a taste for the madness before it officially begins, even if just for a moment.

“All right, Benny. Ten minutes, then open the floodgates. I’m gonna go change.” His gray Henley and worn jeans aren’t quite the uniform that’s called for tonight, least of all drenched in sweat as they are.

“Sounds good, Cher.”

_ Cher _ . There was a time he longed to hear that word when it didn’t come; a time he clung to it in subspace as though it was the only thing that could keep him afloat; a time when he relished in the praise that always accompanied the use of the endearment. Now it fits like this outfit - comfortable, reassuring, warm. But not fit for the floor.

He slips it off as he does his clothes, down to his black boxer briefs, putting on fresh deodorant before choosing his outfit for the evening: He’s pulling out the stops. His spin through the private spaces has inspired him and he pushes aside tight black tees and jeans in favor of a freshly pressed suit - long-sleeve black button up, charcoal grey jacket and pants to match. A black belt he’s used on a sub before; one he knows is crisp enough to leave marks. He even shines his shoes.

Then he stands in front of the mirror.

Tie? No tie?

_ Tie _ , his inner Dominant growls.  _ You know which one, don’t pretend you don’t _ .

It’s dark red, and he has a pocket square to match.

One last look in the mirror, and he nods approvingly at his reflection. He reaches into the pocket of his pants for his phone and again dials his brother. “Dude, I fixed--”

“I trust that you did, Sam, I wouldn’t expect any less.” He futzes absently with the cuffs of his suit coat. “I’m incognito tonight, all right?”

“You’re hunting.”

“You wanna call it that, sure. Anyway, I’ll be on the floor, but as far as most folks are concerned, I’m just a guest so if you call me, the goddamn building better be on fire.”

“Got it. And Dean?”

“Yeah?”

“Good luck out there.”

His brother is such a dick. Dean ends the call and shakes his head. He makes one more cursory call to Benny with a similar message before silencing his ringer and shoving the stupid device back in his pocket.

It’s showtime.

***

There are two things Castiel knows for sure as he enters The Mark for Kinkfest 2016: One, he’s here alone, and he seems to be in the minority on that and two, he’s going to get his ass beat red before the weekend is over.

It’s gonna happen because he’s willing; it’s gonna happen because he’s beautiful; it’s gonna happen because he’s a seductive bottom who’s worn his sassy pants and doesn’t intend to take them off until he’s been roughly handled and fucked into submission by a strong and capable Dominant.

He gets a little tingly just thinking about it.

The club fills to capacity, which in reality is only about 200 people; it’s not that big of a crowd, and Cas wastes no time taking a survey of the floor. It’s about as Balthy had told him before the fucker left: Spacious and classy, with all the right large equipment to make it worth a person’s while no matter how they swung. No smoking, no drinking, and a nearly guaranteed good time, based on the number of forms required just to attempt to gain entry. The mood lighting is fantastic, with a spotlight focused on the main stage, and Castiel chooses for now to take up position in a chair with a good view of the stage. It’s empty but won’t remain as such for long: A large older male Dom is setting something up on the side, and when Cas focuses closer, he notices a twink kneeling patiently, gagged and arms bound behind his back, as his partner prepares for what is likely a planned scene. Securing a spot on the stage couldn’t have been cheap; no doubt these performers have come prepared.

Christ, the kid is a stick. Castiel is by no means any kind of switch  _ at all _ , but even  _ he _ could break the kid in two. How the hell did this Dominant, twice his weight and probably twice his age as well, manage not to kill him?

The sound of a chair scraping against the floor behind him draws Castiel’s attention and he turns his head, one eyebrow raised in mild interest. The eyebrow hikes up further and is joined by his other one as he gets a look at the person assuming the chair behind him. He’s trying a bit too hard, Cas thinks: Full suit and tie, black button-up… but he can’t be bothered to care about the overexertion of the outfit when he reaches the eyes. Oh, holy God and all his angels and Mother Mary, too, although he’s never been Catholic. They’re piercing and emerald, clear as crystal, and motherfucking Dominant in a way that cuts right to Castiel’s loins. His brain can’t even focus, that’s how much those gems bleed dominance.

He has to look away before his entire gameplan goes to fuck and he ends up on his knees beside this Adonis without a second thought.

_ Pull yourself together, Castiel. You’re not here to serve. You’re here to get what you need and to walk away. If Balthazar taught you one thing about being a submissive, gave you one thing to cling to, it’s that neediness gets you nowhere, but a sassy mouth will get you what you want every. single. time. _

He plasters a smile on his face and turns toward the beautiful stranger again, dropping every ounce of submissive decency from his demeanor as he inches his chair back toward the other man’s, then leans it up to balance on just its two back legs. “So,” he shouts as a bass beat starts to pump through the club and seems to vibrate in his veins, “Come here often?”

The Dominant smirks, clearly bemused. “Something like that,” he says, and he sounds even more confident than he looks as he adds a slight eyebrow quirk to the expression. “That the best pickup line you got?”

“Well, I could just drop to my knees and start nuzzling your crotch, but I do have just a little self respect.”

“Good.” There’s an evil glint in those gems as he says it, and his voice drops a notch. “Name’s Dean.”

“Dean,” Cas repeats, tasting the name. Christ, it even sounds  _ feels _ like the name of a Dominant on his tongue - short, to the point. James Dean comes to mind, and it fits. “Castiel.”

There’s a ghost of surprise over his features, same as most, but he covers it well. “Castiel,” he digests, nodding, and seems to be racking his memory for something as his fingers mime a sort of catalogue-searching motion. “Like the angel?”

“Beautiful, Dominant,  _ and _ smart. Dangerous combination, Dean.”

“Oh, you don’t know the half of it, Angel.”

Castiel drops his expression to neutral and lowers his voice as he leans in closer. “Nobody calls me that unless they got a reason to. You got a reason to?”

“Apologies.” Dean clears his throat and leans back in his chair, putting distance between his face and Castiel’s. But as he crosses his right ankle over his left knee and knits his hands together at his middle, Dean’s eyes take on the color of a stormy sea and he continues, “Wipe that smug look off your face.”

And Castiel does.

It’s another half a second  _ after _ that when he realizes that he’s complied with this Dom’s order and he doesn’t even know his last name.

He turns back around to face the stage and luckily, the couple has come front and center and are just beginning their scene. Good. It’s a distraction.

Right away he notices that the Dom, though outwardly intimidating, is a gentle giant as he touches his sub: One hand caresses his hair, the side of his face, fingers dancing under his chin as the Dom smiles down with approval. Everything about it draws Castiel in. There’s comfort and familiarity in their dance, and it makes Cas miss Balthazar… if only just a little.

“Cain’s a master in knife play,” comes the voice of the green-eyed devil behind him, and it sends a tingle down Castiel’s spine. The voice is far away with its first remark, but hot breath against his ear as he continues, “Keep your eyes on him. See that?” The light glints off a blade as Cain begins to shred the twink’s clothing. “He’s gonna take that boy apart piece by piece. And Alfie’s so deep already, by the time he’s naked, he’s gonna cum untouched, you mark my words.”

“And what makes you so sure?” He chances looking back in spite of the Dom’s command because who the fuck was this guy to order him around anyway? Even if it did happen to be something Cas wanted more than anything else in the world right now. He plays up his act, adding his snarkiest expression to the mix as he says, “Because you did?”

“Ha!” The laugh is bitten off short as Dean slaps his own thigh. “Cain only wishes. He’s good, but he’s not so good I’d kneel for him, not by a long shot. Not my type.”

“And what exactly is your  _ type _ ?”

There’s an extended pause as Castiel feels hungry green eyes rake him up and down as if over a bed of hot coals. Then their eyes lock and the Dom leans in close to growl into Castiel’s ear, “Brown-haired, blue-eyed, bound and  _ begging _ .” He punches the last word before pulling back to meet Castiel’s eyes again with a steely glare. “Turn. Around.”

“You gonna punish me if I don’t?” He dares a movement of his head to the left so that his nose nuzzles into the Dom’s day-old stubble. When Dean doesn’t immediately move away, Cas bouldens further, darting the tip of his tongue out to just barely lick at the roughness. He exhales hot and long before turning his face back fully toward the stage. He’s looking. He’s listening. But his attention is still focused squarely on the man behind him.

Yeah, he’s got him. Hook, line--

He feels the hot breath on his neck before the growl, “ _ Don’t. Move _ .” His eyes go wide at the sound of Dean’s chair moving up flush against the back of his own. He can feel the man behind him now,  _ right  _ behind him, but Dean makes no further move to touch. His exhales warm the hair on the back of Cas’s neck, but he can’t feel the man’s mouth. And he  _ wants _ to. He  _ aches _ to. But Dean holds back the final inch, denying touch of any kind. “Imagine you’re Alfie right now, hmmm? Arms bound back like you’re a work of art, a goddamn rope bunny, clothing being cut away piece. By piece. By piece. Imagine that knife, so close, so masterful, not quite touching your skin. Imagine the level of trust they must have between them, that Alfie can be so submissive, so relaxed, even as his partner shreds his clothing with a knife that’s sharp enough to piece his heart. Does it make you hard,  _ Castiel _ ?”

In spite of himself, Castiel finds he’s more than hard - his entire body has become a bundle of nerves and need. Does he want to be Alfie? Fucking yes he wants to be Alfie. He wants. He needs. He aches. But the only response he can emit for the Dom behind him is a pitiful whimper.

Seemingly satisfied, Dean slides back and away and suddenly Cas feels incredibly deprived of something he’s never even had. He closes his eyes to shudder and draw deep breaths to calm himself.

He curses under his breath and buries his face in his hands before abruptly rising from his chair and striding out of the room. What the fuck is happening? He came here to play. He came here to be a brat and earn himself a solid beating. He came here to leave with marks.

Instead he’d flirted with a Dom who’d barely even touched him and yet had Cas ready to fall to his knees at a word. “Pull yourself together, Castiel,” he mutters under his breath as he ducks into a restroom.

***

Dean looks over his shoulder with a self-satisfied smirk to watch the submissive exit the floor.  _ Castiel, I’ve got you. And I’m gonna have you _ .

The guy is exactly Dean’s type, when he’s in the mood for a male sub: Cocky, overconfident, with a great cocksucking mouth and eyes that will look even more beautiful when they’re filled with tears. And he’s willing, there’s very little doubt in Dean’s mind about that. By Dean’s read, Castiel seems to be playing his own game of cat-and-mouse; by his attitude, he’s looking for a spanking. Maybe just a little play, maybe something harder and deeper… doesn’t matter. Dean won’t act without express consent.

The immediate question in Dean’s mind is what Castiel might be doing at the Fest alone. Unaccompanied, uncollared submissives are a rare find and are usually snapped up early by Doms on the prowl - either looking for a sub, or looking to add to a poly harem. And while Dean can’t deny attraction to the man, he also feels a bit protective; someone as willing and beautiful and available as Castiel wouldn’t be alone for long. If he’s looking for play this weekend, he’s going to get it, there’s no doubt.

Sighing, Dean turns back to the stage. His thoughts drift back to Castiel’s abrupt exit and he finds himself wondering if he’d pushed too far, too fast. The guy was feeling it, that was clear, but it was equally clear that he wanted to be the one calling the shots, and Dean had reigned him in sharp and hard by an invisible leash.

Cain has Alfie naked now, the poor twink’s cock jutting out and weeping a mess all over the stage as his Dominant circles behind, assists him to stand and spread his legs, and then begins to tap lightly on his cock with a narrow switch. Ah. Sounding. Yeah, he’s never been a fan, and Dean loses interest in the scene as Alfie starts to whine and cry. He turns around and scans the dim room in search for Castiel, but comes up empty and turns back toward the stage with a sigh.

The minutes tick by; Cain and Alfie are to the heart of their scene as the chair next to Dean is spun around and occupied by someone with clearly no sense of decorum or manners. “You’re a piece of work.” The voice is louder than it had been previously, when its owner was sitting in front of Dean rather than to his direct left. He turns startled eyes on Castiel to find that perfect mouth open in a wide, satisfied smile. “You thought I wasn’t coming back? Cowboy, I’ve never been one to back away from a challenge.” The smile is gone and those blue eyes are positively dancing with mischief in a way that makes Dean want to slam Castiel up against his bedroom wall and fuck him until he drops to his knees in willing submission. But no.  _ Patience _ , he reminds himself.  _ This one wants what  _ he _ wants. You gotta turn him inside out first. _

So instead, Dean fixes Castiel with a glare. “I think that makes two of us.”

“Game’s on, then.” He looks positively giddy at the idea that he even  _ thinks  _ he has Dean on a line.

“Wipe that smirk off your face.”

“And if I don’t?”

Dean turns away without another word, fixing his eyes back on the stage. It’s still the Cain and Alfie show, but the kid’s being guided to an inevitable prostate orgasm via a massager and Dean knows a whipping clinic is up next. That’s perfect, because Dean’s need for a release, cathartic or otherwise, is approaching critical. Castiel is as aggravating as he is fuckable, and Dean is going to have to do  _ something _ to up his game before he does something he’ll live to regret.

“If you don’t,” he finally answers, not looking at Castiel but definitely loud enough to be heard regardless, “then I’m not going to give you what you want.”

“What makes you think you know what I want?”

Now it’s Dean’s turn to smirk, and he does turn his head to look at his companion as he says, “Trust me, Angel. I know  _ exactly  _ what you’re looking for.” He’s leaving himself open to rejection, he knows, but he’s chosen his words carefully. Castiel doesn’t rebuke the endearment, and he doesn’t call Dean out that he’s not the only Dominant in the club capable of doling out a good spanking. Instead the submissive quiets and subdues, face coming to a careful, neutral expression. Dean offers a stiff nod in return, letting the dominance shine through. “Very good.”

The scene in front of them has wrapped. Alfie is free of his bindings and Cain has taken him aside for aftercare while the stage is cleaned and reset for the next bit. It’s Jody’s show; she wields a whip like no one Dean’s ever seen. Even now, she’s stepping up to the stage, examining the instruments being laid out for her to demonstrate with. He looks at Castiel again. “You ever been on the receiving end of a whip?” he asks. Because, hell, if he’s considering scening with this guy, he should at least get a feel for his level of experience. No companion and no collar could mean he’s just unowned, or it could mean he’s virgin flesh. And Dean’s long since given up training new subs.

“Hard limit,” the guy says. “Straps and floggers are fine, but I had a bad experience and I still have the scars. No whips. Sorry.”

“Never apologize for a limit; we all have them. I can take it or leave it. Anything else I should know about?”

“Depends.”

“On?”

Castiel’s thumbs drum nervously on the top rung of the chair he’s straddling, and finally he looks squarely at Dean. “On whether you’re serious.”

“As a heart attack,” Dean responds without missing a beat. “Though I’m not sure you feel the same. Are you playing me, Castiel?”

“Cas.” He clears his throat. There’s a hint of vulnerability in his eyes as he says it - just a hint, but Dean catches it. He shakes his head.

“ _ Castiel _ ,” he repeats, stressing the full name. “I like it. I’ll use it when I’m inside you.”

“Is that a threat or a promise?”

Dean’s heartbeat is so loud he swears he can hear it over the backbeat of the techno music and the hubbub of human sounds around them. They’ve faded away into their own reality in the middle of The Mark, and Castiel is all Dean can see, all he can hear, all he can feel. “Both.”

“Shit. Fuck.” Castiel throws his head back, eyes on the ceiling. “This was a terrible idea.”

Dean doesn’t dare touch, but he does stand, circling around behind Castiel and leaning down to whisper in his ear. “You really believe that? Because I think this is exactly what you need, Angel. It may not be what you  _ want _ , but that’s the difference, isn’t it? That’s why you’re afraid.” The submissive’s bodily shudder is all the response Dean needs, but he still holds back his touch. “Because I’m inside your head. I’m mindfucking you right now, and that’s got you panicked because you came here thinking you were gonna mindfuck a Dominant into taking you across his knee or paddling you until you’re a fuckable mess. Instead… hmmm.” Dean chuckles darkly. “Instead,  _ I _ hooked  _ you _ . And I tell you, Castiel, I got half a mind to keep talking in your ear like this until you cum in your pants like a horny little teenager. Because you would. Oh, you would, and then I’d take you back and put that smart mouth of yours to good use. No whips I can live with, but I wanna see those pretty eyes cry as I choke you on my cock. I wanna control your breath, I wanna control your mouth, your tongue, I want to _ own _ .  _ You _ . Oh, you’ll be a mess for me all right, all weekend, Castiel, is that what you want?” He’s not satisfied with the whimper he gets in response. “Speak.”

“Yes.”

Dean huffs a couple of ragged breaths and steps back. Almost, but not quite. God, he wants to touch. He wants to feel. He wants… “I think you can do better than that.”

Castiel moans in agony as Dean settles back down in his own chair. Jody’s on stage demonstrating the proper follow-through and recoil for a bullwhip, the tip landing with a resounding  _ CRACK! _ against the dummy she’s strapped to a St. Andrew’s. She has the rapt attention of most of the audience, which is good, but Dean doesn’t need the refresher - especially if Castiel isn’t interested. Still, he feigns interest, because he needs to convince his companion he has less than Dean’s full attention. He needs Castiel to make a move.

Jody approaches the dummy and Dean’s half-listening as she stresses the importance of arm strength, control, and prevention of whip-wrap. He wonders idly if that’s what happened to Castiel. Maybe, someday, he’ll get the chance to find out.

_ Someday? Slow down, Winchester. You’ve known the guy for all of an hour _ .

A solid five minute passes before Dean feels something on his knee. It takes all of his strength not to look down, but he can’t stop the way his eyes narrow as, slowly but surely, a very strong and masculine hand starts up his right leg, and when it gets no attention, continues to travel the inside of Dean’s thigh until it’s cupping his crotch. Methodically, Dean reaches between his legs, grabs hold of the hand and removes it, placing it back in Castiel’s lap without even a glance away from the stage.

He’s pretty proud of himself for that one.

Jody’s giving one-on-one time to members of the audience who’ve formed a line to come up on stage when the hand comes back, more firm and direct than the first time. It finds Dean’s hardness and squeezes pointedly. Dean still doesn’t look at his companion, but he can  _ feel _ the man’s satisfied smirk. He repeats his motion from before, removing the hand and returning it to its owner without a glance, but it takes even more effort than it did the first time. If Castiel tries again, Dean’s not sure he’ll be able to keep up the charade.

And, he knows, that’s likely what the sub is counting on. He swallows and gathers his resolve in clenched fists at his sides.

But he’s surprised, because the next action from the man next to him is that he stands entirely, stretches… and circles around to stand behind Dean, leaning on the back of Dean’s chair, the bulge in his pants pressing insistently against Dean’s back. “I want you to fuck me with that rod of yours, big boy. You know you want to. You’re thinking about it right now, aren’t you? Bending me over one of those benches in the back and ramming me straight through?”

Dean clenches his eyes shut and draws a deep breath in. Hold. Out. In. Hold. Out. In--

And there’s a mouth latched to his neck.

_ Fucking. Hell. _

He stands and whirls around, pinning Castiel with no less than a thunderstorm of need in his eyes, but he won’t give in, especially not now. The fucker wants to play dirty? Fine. “Sit,” he hisses, pointing at the seat of the chair he’s just vacated. “Sit, and face the stage. Don’t move. I mean it. Not an inch.”

Castiel scrambles to comply and once he’s situated, Dean remains standing, taking up position behind the chair with his arms crossed over his chest. Yeah, he knows he’s fucking hard as a rock, and it’s probably obvious to anyone who looks at him, but he’s out of fucks to give about that.

They remain silent and immobile through the rest of Jody’s clinic. When cleanup starts, Dean glances down and is satisfied to find only the top of Castiel’s head in his field of vision. The submissive’s eyes, per direction, are still focused on the stage. As a bonus, Dean’s calmer, his dick less insistent, and he’s able to think about his next move with a clear head. After a moment, he leans down to speak into Castiel’s ear so he’s sure to be heard. “Stand,” he says, “And follow me.”

Compliance is eager and immediate, and as he leads his perspective playmate out of the dungeon, he can’t help the smile that lights his face. Yeah. This one’s gonna be good.

***

Castiel would be angry at himself, if he could think straight. He can’t, though, so he’s not, but he expects he will be later. It’s possible that maybe he didn’t think this thing all the way through. This Dean… whatshisname… seems pretty good, and hasn’t laid a harmful hand on Cas yet, though it’s painfully evident that he wants to. He has an admirable level of self control, and Cas has to admit in spite of himself that he finds that sexy as fuck.

Sure, he wants Dean to paddle him raw. He wants the pain, the sting, the impact of rough play. He wants to be used as a punching bag, even; as a method for cathartic release. He wants to be fucked and leave feeling sated and satisfied and able to sort out his future as a single submissive gay man with a clear head. That’s exactly what he  _ wants _ ; that’s exactly why he’d come here, Balthazar and his reasons and changes and growth and  _ need to explore himself by himself _ be damned.

But this Dean… Dean… Cas really does need to get Dean’s last name. This _Dean_ _Somebody_ has promised to give him what he _needs_. And that’s equal parts intriguing and terrifying.

He’s so lost in his own thoughts that he misses most of their journey until Dean is pulling out a chair and he realizes they’re in the club’s cafe, and he’s being bade to sit. Not on the floor, and not in a lap, but in his own chair, as Dean’s equal. He can’t suppress a questioning look as he takes the offered chair.

Dean acknowledges Castiel’s glance as he takes the adjacent seat and two glasses of water are placed in front of them. The waitress - she’s cute and blonde and totally fuckable, if Cas swung that way at all - smiles at Dean and says in a tone thick with sucrose, “Your usual, Mr. Winchester?”

“Not tonight, Jo.” Dean’s tone is equally overly pleasant, and Castiel’s confusion deepens. He glances between the pair with a severely creased brow, but keeps quiet. “We just need a quiet table.”

“Ah.” She nods and her smile slips, and Cas catches a tiny roll of her eyes.

“Ah,” Dean echoes with a nod and a stern glare. Her smile reappears and she winks at Castiel as she saunters away. When she’s gone, Dean drums his fingers on the table and shakes his head. “Snarky, that one.”

“You seem to know her well.”

Dean just nods and offers no further explanation. He takes a sip from his water glass, and when Castiel doesn’t follow suit, the Dominant says pointedly, “You’ll drink that before we leave this table.” So Cas takes a sip, earning him a nod of approval which warms him inside without his permission. “I don’t play lightly,” the Dominant expresses after another beat.

“I don’t break easily,” Cas returns, smirking.

“What I mean is,” Dean’s tongue darts out to lick his lips briefly, and his right pointer finger traces an idle pattern on the oak table between them as he chooses his next words. “I don’t  _ take  _ play lightly. I don’t go in blind, nor do I allow my submissives to do so. Understand right now, Castiel, that if you scene with me, I’m going to make it good for you in all the ways you don’t expect. But I am  _ not  _ a service Top. I’m not here to sate you or do what you want. But you’ll get what you need regardless, you have my word.”

“Those are some pretty strong words there, Romeo, but I’ve yet to see you back them up with anything more than your silver tongue.”

“I don’t touch without express permission.” The sea of green in his eyes goes stonewall serious and he sets his jaw as he holds Castiel’s gaze. “Because you are your own person and I respect that. Now tell me. How many so-called  _ Dominants  _ have you been with who would have put up with your shit over the past two hours and still sat you down to negotiate?” Castiel’s non-response is as good a response as any. “Exactly. So I’ll make you a deal. You be straight up with me for ten minutes, and you finish that water, and then I’ll give you the time of your life if you still want it. Deal?”

“Deal.”

“All right then, Angel.” Dean’s smirking because again he’s used that endearment and again Castiel has let him. “Hard limits beyond whipping. Legality is assumed, and this is a safe space. Don’t hold back.”

Cas lets out a long exhale and ticks off on his fingers. “Watersports, scat play, rainbow play.” Dean’s nodding along, eyes focused on Castiel with intent, whether Cas is looking back at him or not. “Needles. Permanent marking. And I’m a submissive, not a slave.”

At that, Dean stops him with an upheld hand. “So no service submission?”

“No-- I mean, service submission is fine. It’s… um. I like that. Just.” His brain scrambles, because really, in five solid years of sexual submission, no one’s ever asked him to explain himself quite this way before. It’s equal parts uncomfortable and arousing that a near-stranger cares enough to make him clarify. “If I submit to you then it’s just to you. I don’t want to be shared.” Dean nods in understanding and drops his hand, but Cas indicates he’s finished his list.

“Soft limits?”

“Public humiliation. Not on the first date, OK?”

“Fine.”

“And blood play. I… that’s…”

“Castiel. I’m not asking for explanations.” And Cas just nods. The more Dean uses his full name, the more he settles into it; it’s formal, but comfortable, like a well-worn but well-fitting suit. “OK. That’s a solid list. I’m not gonna ask about your 5’s, Angel, but know that it’s not because I don’t care. It’s because, whether you know it or not, you’ve already screamed them at me.” Dean laughs, and Castiel knows it’s at his facial expression, which is probably a plain display of aroused terror. “But I’ll lay out mine. I intend to restrain you, because I love having my submissives completely at my mercy. It’s a display of trust that unbound play just doesn’t offer. I’m a huge fan of edging, especially with a male partner. The longer I can torment your pretty little dick, the longer I can keep you on edge, the more turned on I’ll be. I thrive on the control of the non-tangible parts of you - your orgasm, your breath, your words and thoughts and feelings. If I can make you cry, I’ll relish in your tears. You can expect I’m going to choke you on my cock. You can expect I’m going to mark you with my mouth in obscene places. You can expect I’m going to own. Your. Body. By the time I’m finished. But you can also expect a high standard of aftercare. You have my word on that.” Dean’s face has been growing darker with every word, and as he reaches the end of his spiel, he taps a finger against the table. “Speaking of. Anything in particular you need for that?”

Cas manages a shake of his head. He feels suddenly very vulnerable; here he was, just looking for a release or two over the course of the weekend, and now he’s negotiating with a Dominant who’s forthright and honest and is already asking about his needs for after they’re finished. And he wants to express his needs, but he also doesn’t want to think about  _ after _ because  _ after  _ means it’s  _ over _ . “Just hold me until I come down.”

“That I can do.” Dean nods firmly and holds Castiel’s gaze for longer than necessary. “Safeword?”

“Stoplight?”

“For now. Three taps for release if you can’t speak.” Cas just nods, suddenly not trusting his voice. “Finish your water, Angel. You’re going to need the hydration.”

***

Dean’s body buzzes as he watches the submissive’s lithe throat bob with each swallow. He’s slow-playing this hand; he wouldn’t have to, but part of what he’s discovering is that in the case of the submissive Castiel, there’s a brat lurking under the skin who’s used to poking and poking until he gets what he wants. And Dean doesn’t abide by a bratty sub. He never has. Discipline and respect are part and parcel to his BDSM dance, and under normal circumstances, he wouldn’t have given someone like Castiel the time of day.

But there’s something else in Castiel that keeps Dean’s interest: Underneath the brat on the surface, there’s a true submissive, someone eager to please and be praised and rewarded. Someone who wants to be good, but maybe doesn’t know - maybe has never been taught - just how to do that. It could be that he’s trying to overcome a bratty nature, or it could have been improper care and training from a previous partner, Dean can’t be sure. Maybe a little of both.

When the water glasses are both empty, Dean stands and offers a hand to Castiel. He smiles to himself, because no doubt the sub is under the impression they’re headed back to the dungeon floor, and he’s about to get the surprise of his life.

The look on Castiel’s face as Dean leads him away from the dungeon and instead into the hall of doors leading to private play spaces is one of a child on Christmas who’s just found a pony under the tree. “You reserved a private room? When you came… alone?”

“Something like that.” Dean, still smirking to himself, reaches into his breast pocket for his key and pauses a beat before opening the door. It swings aside and he leads Castiel into the room, closes the door, and locks it methodically behind them before turning his attention back to his partner, whose attention is anywhere but on Dean at the moment. “Why…?”

“Ah. Yeah. Guess I forgot to mention that. Dean Winchester.” He extends his hand, bemused, in an offer as though they’re just meeting for the first time. “This room is mine because it’s always mine. Because this whole place is mine.”

For the space of about three seconds, Dean is reasonably sure Castiel is going to bolt. He doesn’t, though; just drops his jaw, and then his eyes, bottom lip worrying between his teeth. It’s a look Dean’s seen before, many times. It says  _ I’m not worthy _ and it says  _ this wasn’t quite what I had in mind _ and it says  _ I want this, but you’re actually somebody _ . So Dean’s response, as always, is trained and careful. “If you want to leave, do so now. Otherwise, if you intend to stay, please go into the bathroom. Fold your clothing and shower, washing every part of your body. Brush your teeth - there’s a new toothbrush in the medicine cabinet - and come out naked. When you’ve knelt beside the bed, I’ll know you’re ready to begin. Until then, I won’t touch you.” He gives one last look into those endless pools of blue before stepping aside to his armchair, where a copy of The New Yorker and two fingers of whiskey are waiting.

He can’t hide the smile that plays at his lips when he hears the padding of footsteps to the bathroom and the door click closed.

***

_ Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck. Fuck _ . What the  _ fuck _ is he doing? Castiel scrubs well even as his mind screams at him that this is not what he wanted, that he just wanted some play, just wanted to be a tease and a brat and lure some Dom into taking control of him for a scene and sending him away sated and satisfied and instead…

Instead he’s here. With Dean. Dean  _ Fucking _ Winchester, The Mark’s proprietor, and a well-known and well-respected Dominant to boot. It would be fine if it weren’t common knowledge that Dean’s on the hunt for the big “LTR.” He wants, has wanted for quite some time, to contract and collar a sub. And that’s exactly what Castiel doesn’t want nor need at the moment. Fuck, he’d just come away from that, hadn’t he? He’s not even sure what he wants right now, out of Dean, out of anyone else… hell, even out of himself.

On the other hand, he could do a lot worse than the esteemed Mr. Winchester. He  _ had _ done a lot worse, and recently at that. Balthazar wasn’t a bad person, but he hadn’t been a great Dominant, either. Sure, he respected Castiel’s limits and he could swing a flogger with the best of them, but when it came to little things like consistency and expectations, he was definitely lacking. Dean, conversely, had been precise and direct in both his conversation and his direction with Castiel to this point. And it had remained well within Castiel’s notice that Dean hadn’t given in to any of the games Cas was used to using to get attention - even if it was guaranteed to be  _ negative  _ attention. Balthy had viewed BDSM as play. Dean views it as a lifestyle. And that’s a point that deserves consideration.

When he’s cleaned his entire body, he returns to give his ass and genitals an extra swipe before rinsing and reaching for the towel hanging on the door. It’s not unlike a hotel towel - plush and white and  _ yeah _ , he sighs,  _ I could definitely get used to this _ .

When he’s dry enough, he steps out of the tub and opens the plastic-sealed toothbrush and uncaps a travel bottle of toothpaste. It’s not his preferred brand, but that’s fine; he knows it’ll do the job. Two minutes, and he watches his face in the medicine cabinet mirror as he brushes, making an occasional face at his reflection around the brush.

There’s Scope mouthwash - the cool mint kind - and Cas makes good use of that as well before rinsing with water one last time and turning to grasp the doorknob. A long inhale, a harsh exhale, and with a pounding heart, he exits the bathroom, being sure to flick off the light before he strides to the bed. He knows Dean is watching, so he walks slowly and carefully, trying not to seem too eager. The brat he’d intended to be tonight with whomever he got his hooks in is still demanding a bit of attention, so he satisfies it with taking his time in situating himself in the position Dean had requested. Kneeling beside the bed is pretty standard, and Cas settles in, folding his hands in his lap and looking down at them like a good submissive as he sits back on his thighs.

His heart hammers so loud he can hear it, but other than that, there’s no sound in the room. Cas resists the urge to speak for as long as he can, but he’s counting the minutes that pass, even if he doesn’t intend to, and somewhere around five, he loses all his patience. He squirms and looks up, annoyed that Dean’s still engrossed in whatever it is he’s reading. “I didn’t come here this weekend just to kneel by the bed while some rich Dom read a magazine, you know. I have needs I’m sure someone else can attend to if you’re gonna just be a dick.”

The response is a soft, bemused chuckle and the audible turn of a glossy page. Castiel growls back. Squirms. Another two minutes pass and he huffs and rolls his eyes.

“At least tell me what the fuck you want me to be doing.”

Green eyes pierce him through, dancing with the same amusement the chuckle had contained. “I want you to be  _ quiet _ ,” comes the response, as though Dean is speaking to a petulant child, “and to  _ wait _ . You obviously have no regard for your submissive manners, boy, nor do you possess an ounce of patience. We’re doing that right now. Patience. Make no mistake, the scene began the moment you stepped out of that bathroom, and I won’t condone any less than total compliance.” A long, stern look, and Dean returns his eyes to his magazine.

The reprimand is crisp and effective. Castiel closes his eyes and settles back into position. Sure, it’s not his preference, but his Dominant has given a direct command that he’s perfectly capable of following.

Patience. It’s not something Balthy ever asked for. On the contrary, he’d encouraged Castiel to embody all of the… well, now that he thinks about it, all of the  _ weaker _ things about submission. He’d been a wanton slut and a needy brat and a flamboyant twink. Discipline like Dean is calling for now had been neither expected nor appreciated. And yet, as he mulls his current situation - kneeling, waiting, following the simplest of non-sexual orders - he has to admit that this is perhaps the most submissive act he’s ever performed. It’s one thing, he thinks, to be a hole and a cum dumpster and a cock warmer. It’s easy to comply with a direct order for a blowjob. It’s quite another to accept that a Dominant simply wants him in his presence, quiet, contemplative.

“Tell me where your meditation has led you.”

The voice of Dean Winchester breaks through his thoughts and Castiel, careful to keep his eyes on the floor, returns without giving it any forethought, “I was comparing this act of submission to those required by my former Master. Sir,” he adds quickly, tongue darting out to lick suddenly dry lips.

“Ah.” It’s just a vocalization, but it’s heavy with understanding. He hears Dean shifting, probably standing, and then padding across the floor. “And what conclusions did you come to, Angel?”

“That for all that I may have embraced my position as a submissive bottom under his care, this… right here… may perhaps be the most submissive act I have ever performed.”

At this admission, he feels a hand on his head, patting and massaging slightly. “Good boy. Very good. I’ll call that a successful lesson.” Two fingers press to Castiel’s mouth and he opens to let them slip inside. “Suck,” Dean instructs, and Cas complies, intermittently swathing with his tongue over the textured pads. He hears Dean hiss in a breath and smiles around the digits, licking up to the tips from the second knuckle before mouthing them both again. Dean’s breathing is labored when he speaks again. “One thing… I noticed… during our interactions earlier, Castiel, is that you seem the type of submissive who’s accustomed to going hunting for his punishments. Not because you like to disappoint, mind you, but because you like the impact. Someone, somewhere -- perhaps the previous Master you were just considering -- wasn’t very good at giving you what you craved in any other way, and so you earned yourself a reputation as a brat. Is that accurate?”

“It’s fair,” Cas concedes, and begins licking Dean’s pointer finger exclusively. The hand in his hair tightens, and he smiles.

“It’s foolish.” The pronouncement comes with a withdrawal of the fingers. “And a waste, at that. Someone presented himself as a Dominant to you without owning up to the title. He didn’t want a submissive. He wanted a slut. And you’re not that, are you, Castiel? You have it in you to behave, don’t you?”

“Y--yes Sir,” he manages as Dean’s spit-lubed fingers begin probing at his hole. He hadn’t even noticed, but sure enough, Dean has circled around behind him and knelt at his back, and now he’s working Cas open with those beautiful, talented fingers. It’s soft and slow, teasing in a way Castiel has craved for years, and he can’t help the moan that escapes.

“That’s it, Angel. Relax and open up for me,” Dean mutters as he continues his slow, steady ministrations and begins laying hot kisses along the back of Castiel’s neck. “Brattiness will get you nowhere with me. If you wanna tempt fate, fine, but mark my words you’re gonna end up back on your knees without any further gratification from me, understood?”

“Yes Sir.”

“Say it again. Explicitly.”

“I understand that being a brat will get me nowhere with you, Sir.” Castiel gasps as first one, then two fingers push in to the second knuckle. His body accepts them greedily and he shudders, relaxing into the steady thrust of Dean’s fingers. “That you expect my obedience and submission first of all.”

“Very good. Very,  _ very _ good. You’re amazing, Castiel.” Dean withdraws his fingers and stands, seemingly in no hurry as he walks casually to the nightstand, opens the drawer and pokes around a bit until his hand lands on something black and solid. It’s a plug, and Castiel smiles and nearly squeals at the sight. “I assume you’re familiar?”

“Yes Sir.”

“Good.” He resumes his position at Castiel’s back and the plug goes in without ceremony. Once it’s settled firmly between Castiel’s cheeks, Dean rewards him with a firm slap to his left ass cheek, drawing a predictable yelp from the sub. Then Dean stands and circles around to face Cas, hands behind his back. “Color.”

“Green, Sir.”

“Faaaantastic.” Dean nods and strolls away in the same nonchalant manner. This time he fishes for something in the top drawer of a four-drawer black bureau that looks like it probably came from IKEA. After a moment he closes the drawer without grabbing anything, and moves to remove his own tie instead. “Stand up.” When Cas does, Dean gives a pointed look at his erection and, as he steps back to Castiel’s side, slaps at the head, causing the organ to bob obscenely. Then he makes quick work of tying Castiel’s hands together behind his back with the tie before stepping away to remove his own suit jacket and shirt. “My intention,” he says as he pushes Cas back to his knees and begins opening his own fly, “is that if you learn nothing else from me, you will learn to  _ ask _ . More than that, you will learn to  _ beg _ . See, I’m not going to give you anything you don’t ask for explicitly, and sometimes, I might even deny you those things if I’m not quite ready to give them yet. The problem with subs like you, Castiel, is that whether you realize it or not, you top from the bottom. You bat your pretty little eyelashes and you flash that gorgeous smile and offer a few slips of the tongue and those shallow, weasley bastards willingly give you whatever it is you want. And that’s fine for some, but I think you want better than that, Castiel. I think,” he straddles Cas at the hips, naked now, his erection resting comfortably on Cas’ abdomen, “that you crave and you need better than that. Hmm? Oh, Angel, shhh shh shhh.” Cas hadn’t even realized he was whimpering until Dean pointed it out, smirking, and both of them were looking at Dean’s dick. “Now, what did I just say?”

The word takes a couple of tries to get out, and one anxious thrust of the hips before it’s barely a whisper in the air. “ _ Please _ .”

Dean’s response it to tilt his head and frown in thought for a beat before leaning forward to kiss Castiel, claiming his mouth. A tongue probes insistently and Cas willingly opens up for it, letting Dean plunder the cavern, wondering idly what the Dominant is searching for, and half-hoping he never finds it. Their bodies grind together, two cocks trapped between them, and Cas turns into a whining mess as Dean lets him up for a breath. There’s no time to consider that, though, because those emerald pools are looking at him expectantly. He bucks his hips and tries again.

“Please. I need… I want…”

“Oh, I know you do, Angel, trust me. I know you’ve wanted my cock just about any way you could get it from the moment we first locked eyes on the dungeon floor, but I told you that’s not how it’s gonna be tonight.”

“Please I…” he whimpers, and feels tears threatening… no, that can’t be. He’s not even… it’s… God, this is fucked up. “Please let me suck your cock.”

“That’s better.” The Dominant sits up and scoots forward enough so that Castiel can reach, and he opens his mouth, wide and expectant, only to hear himself being chided. “Nuh uh uh. Lick. Use your tongue on the head, and don’t you even  _ think _ about trying to go further, boy, or I’ll take it away.”

And he does. He doesn’t know  _ why  _ he does; he just  _ does _ . It’s not a comfortable position, and he sure as hell wants more of that cock in his mouth and… well, just about anywhere else, but Dean won’t give him more than the spongy tissue of the head, so Cas makes the most of it, lavishing attention on the tissue and the slit and throwing what he hopes are uber-satisfied heart-eyes up at Dean Winchester.

The head disappears and Castiel moans, only to look up and find raised eyebrows and stern green eyes.

“Please… let me suck you, Sir, please…” It’s meant to be a request, but it comes out as a needy whimper.

“You need more of my cock in your mouth?” Dean’s stroking himself slowly, idly, as though he has all the time in the world - and maybe he does, Cas thinks. It’s Kinkfest, and this motherfucker owns the joint; nobody’s gonna come to kick them out of this room, not in an hour, not tomorrow not… ever. Cas bucks his hips, suddenly exhilarated and terrified by the idea that he may never leave this room.

“Please Sir… please…”

“Please what, Castiel?”

“Pleeease let me suck yo _ uuuu _ .” He loves and hates and  _ loves  _ the way it comes out, needy - not to receive, but to  _ give _ . He wants that cock, he  _ needs _ that cock, he’d do anything to feel it in his mouth…

And then suddenly it’s against his lips and pushing forward, Dean supplying a supporting hand at the back of his head as he feeds his hardness inch by inch into Castiel’s mouth. “That’s what I’m talkin’ about,” the Dom hisses, sliding in deep, and Cas keeps taking and swallowing as Dean’s other hand comes to Cas’ throat to massage and take control of his breathing during the blowjob. “Breathe, Angel. Breathe through your nose.” He does, clinging to Dean’s voice like a lifeline. “Now work your throat around me. Good. Fucking… Mmmm Angel…” He starts to move and thrust and without thinking, Castiel rides the waves. He’s reduced his world in a very short time to Dean’s cock in his mouth and Dean’s hand on his throat. Dean says breathe, he breathes. Dean says suck, he sucks. Dean pulls out to leave precum on his tongue before sliding back down his throat and he moans in supreme pleasure. Is he even hard anymore? He has no idea. He doesn’t really even care.

Dean pulls out before he reaches orgasm, holding Castiel’s jaw down and jerking off for a few strokes before he cums all over Cas’ face. The few ropes that landed in his mouth are bade to be swallowed, and he does, greedily. He’s aware of a hand in his hair, stroking gently, and of a satisfied voice bidding him, “Good boy. Very good,” before the Dominant rolls off the bed and pads to the bathroom, closing the door behind himself.

***

The guy’s good.

Better than good, really. He’s fucking fantastic, and Dean wants to keep him forever, and this is a problem because it’s exactly what gets him into trouble and leads to heartbreak every fucking time.

Part of him wishes he’d never met Castiel.

A bigger part really just wants to clean up and grab a condom and go back out there for Round Two. Hopefully, Castiel is still on the bed with his wrists bound, and Dean will be able to haul him up and get him suspended from the suspension chain. It’ll be good, he thinks, for taking this boy apart; bound, he won’t be able to push Dean’s buttons, and if he’s too much of a sass, Dean can walk away and leave him to cool his jets for a bit, or he can put in a gag.

He nods at his reflection in the mirror, resolved to continue his scene. He grabs a condom from the medicine cabinet and fills a plastic cup with water before he exits the loo, and sure enough, there’s that beautiful submissive lying - if a bit restlessly - right where Dean left him, on top of the comforter in the center of the bed. He smiles softly and takes a minute to admire the view before stepping softly back up to the side of the bed. “Can you sit up on your own?” There’s a shaky nod, and compliance. He offers Castiel the cup, tilting his head and guiding him to drink it, and again, he gets full compliance.

When the cup is empty, he unties the sub’s wrists and takes his right hand to guide him to stand and walk to the foot of the bed. Wordlessly, he reaches up for the elastic suspension rigging he knows is there and pulls it as he brings Castiel’s wrists up to meet the cuff. “Eyes on me,” he commands, firmly but softly, and beautiful blue irises are open and staring back up at him in half a heartbeat. He nods and holds the gaze until Castiel blinks, and only then does he turn away to retrieve an instrument from his bureau. He picks up a lightweight rope flogger with a sturdy handle and grips it, nodding, before reaching back in with his free hand to take hold of a heavier, fuller leather flogger and toss it idly onto the bed. A minute later a strap joins the leather flogger, then a bottle of lube. He clutches one last item in his hand and approaches Castiel face-to-face with it. At the sight, the submissive bites his bottom lip. Dean raises an eyebrow, and there’s a tiny nod, and a shudder.

_ You’ve known the guy for four hours and you just had a silent conversation with him _ .

He shakes off the thought; he can worry about that later. For now, his subconscious is distracting.  _ It means nothing. It never means anything. I’m a good Dom and he’s a good sub and we’re just. Playing. That’s all _ . And on that he reaches down to grasp Castiel’s cock harshly, giving the hardness a firm squeeze and a few strokes before securing the cockring. He holds up the rope flogger wordlessly as well, and this time the nod is more defined, but Dean stays put because he wants to see Castiel’s face as he speaks. “This isn’t a punishment,” he says pointedly, shaking the flogger for effect. “It’s a reward. Understood?”

“Yes Sir. Thank you Sir.”

“You’re welcome.” He reaches out and cups the side of Castiel’s face and takes a long look into those endless pools of blue. Man, he could get lost in there for days…

With a chaste kiss, he steps back and moves behind, quickly and efficiently working to warm the submissive’s ass with the rope flogger. Cas squirms but makes no sound; it’s as expected, because the rope isn’t meant to hurt. Its purpose is simply to prime the skin, awaken the nerves and pull the blood vessels to the surface. But the act does more than that; it settles both of them into their respective spaces. Dean can feel his inner Dominant grasping full control. His movements turn from lazy to defined, crisp, and Castiel responds accordingly. When Dean catches the hiss from his partner, he tosses the rope flogger aside and picks up the leather one. Again he circles in front of Castiel, holding up the toy to alert his submissive to the change before deploying it. Once again careful and lazy at first - but only for a moment. Then it’s a full-on swing and a satisfying  _ slap  _ against the skin. Castiel cries out and Dean recoils and strikes again with dime-drop accuracy to the opposite cheek before returning to a lazy weaving of broad strokes over tender thighs, back up over the ass, and then back down the same path, stopping just above the knees.

He pulls back. Unfurls to hit harder and this time it’s a solid  _ thump. Thump. Thump _ . He loses himself in the dance and the rhythm of his arm and the flogger and Castiel’s pretty, pretty pink ass and his beautiful cries that fill their play space. He listens, and he plays, and he indulges himself, careful not to lose himself in a Dominant rut, tuning his ears as he learns Castiel’s nonverbal cues.

He moves on to the strap and then Castiel is positively screaming at the sting, and it encourages Dean to play - with this instrument, he strikes intermittently and with varied intensity. Still Castiel shows no signs of unwanted wear and tear; his tone stays high and his shoulders firm, and he leans in for more rather than rolling away. Dean’s playing him like a fiddle now: stinging slaps to the thighs in quick succession for a whine, harsh paddles to the ass for yelps. It’s perfect.  _ He’s _ perfect. Dean’s heartbeat is steady and booming; his jaw clenches with unmatched focus. Castiel, everything that he is, everything that they’re doing, is everything Dean wants.

When the sounds he’s making drop an octave and carry a hint of “Nhhh….,” Dean drops the flogger abruptly. He steps up, pesses his front against the submissive’s back, and goes to work on his neck. It’s such beautiful skin… so unblemished, so perfect. Dean lays into that skin like he owns it - licking, then kissing, then sucking, then biting and yeah, when he pulls back, he’s satisfied to find a bruise. “ _ Mine _ ,” he growls before he can stop himself, and the boy in his care simply whimpers and nods.

Dean turns tender at that; Castiel seems completely relaxed, slumped forward just slightly but held upright by the overhead bonds. That’s not good for his shoulders, Dean knows, and the responsible Dominant in him takes over. He embraces his boy from behind, supporting him as he continues to lay kisses on the neck and shoulders. He nips at the right earlobe and glows at the way Castiel’s head lolls back onto his shoulder at the show of tenderness.

“You’re so beautiful,” he breathes against the submissive’s ear before nipping at the lobe again. His hands journey further south, right hand circling the sustained erection he encounters. “Just for me. All for me. Such a good boy.” A sigh. He’s letting himself get too attached. It’s way too early for this. “Color?”

“Green.” It’s a mumble, and Dean smiles as he undoes the cuffs to free his boy and then leads him to the bed. The slump of his weight says he’s not capable of holding himself up anymore. He’s gone flying, and Dean wants nothing more than to join him.

***

Cas is no stranger to subspace. The free, floaty feeling of total submission is his favorite kind of high; better than any drug, better than his most giggly drunken nights, better than walking on the beach hand in hand with a lover. Certainly better than vanilla sex. Cas welcomes and embraces subspace like it’s an addiction.

But this is something different. This is something  _ better _ . Subspace isn’t the drug he’s on right now. Subspace is the  _ effect _ .

Dean Winchester is the drug.

He lets himself be led and positioned onto the bed on his back - Christ, the fucker even knows enough to put Cas into a position where he doesn’t have to support his own weight - and whimpers as he’s blanketed with a body and his mouth is consumed with kisses. They’re full like a lover’s kiss; they’re complete and passionate and soon Cas is squirming and bucking under Dean’s weight, looking for more contact, more friction, more Dean…  _ more _ .

And that’s exactly when Dean pulls away. Like he knows. Like he can read Cas’ fucking mind.

“Please.” It’s on his lips and out of his mouth before Dean even has to prompt him.

“Please what, Angel?” Is “endearing Dominance” a thing? Because that’s what Dean sounds like right now. There’s a palm stroking Castiel’s face and a finger tickling his balls and he can’t think, except to think that he absolutely, positively is going to start to cry.

“I need you.”

“Me?”

He tries to buck his hips but is held firm by Dean’s body weight. “Please…”  _ Fuck me _ is on his lips, but it doesn’t feel right. That sounds too harsh, and it feels too demanding. “Take me?”

“Is that a question?”

“Please take me, Dean Winchester.” The tears start to fall, and  _ what even is this _ ? It still feels like subspace, sort of, but his eyes are locked with Dean’s and they don’t break contact, not once, as the plug is removed and he’s filled instead by a thickness and fullness that can only be Dean. His Dominant. His…

What?

“Thank you. Oh, fucking God, thank you, Sir.”

“You’re a good boy, you know. So good for me.”

It crosses Castiel’s mind that the cockring is still in place, holding back the orgasm he’d surely have had by now. But he’s rising to meet Dean’s long, slow thrusts, to offer his body up for Dean’s pleasure. He’s sobbing, but Dean’s kissing his tears away, taking his body deep but his mind deeper.

“I got you, Angel. I got you, Castiel. Fuck, you’re so tight. So fucking good.”

“Dean. Sir. Fuck. I.”

“I know. I know. Not yet.” Their foreheads are pressed together as Dean continues to keep his pace slow and his thrusts deep, gently nudging Cas’ prostate. “Close your eyes, Angel. Feel me, Castiel. Feel me moving inside of you. Let everything else go.”

He can’t form words right now. He mouths them, but it’s like a fish on shore, gasping for air - silent and needy. Finally, he just nods at Dean, and there’s a thumb running through his sweaty hair in understanding.

Then there’s a movement of Dean’s other hand, and the cockring is gone. Dean straightens and continues to pound into Cas, shaking his head and holding his gaze steady. “Not yet,” he grits out, slamming in faster, harder. Cas is a mess of wordless pleas for mercy and release, but he’s determined to hold out because this Dominant, because  _ Dean _ , has treated him well and given him pleasure and pain and been attentive and called him  _ good boy _ … Cas won’t disappoint him, not now.

There’s nothing and no one touching his dick and and it registers that the object in his ass is the plug again, not Dean’s dick, and Dean is just sitting up and staring at him, quiet and still and owning his soul through some act of osmosis as he says, “Cum.”

He’s aware of a shout that has to be his own, and the glorious feel of an orgasm ripping through his whole body, and then everything goes dark.

***

Dean takes Castiel into his arms the second he goes limp. He rolls them both on their sides and just holds the submissive protectively. _ Just hold me until I come down _ , he’d said, and while he probably hadn’t expected that he’d black out at the end of their session, Dean was determined to give him the care he wanted, the care he deserved. Because that had been fucking fantastic.

Because  _ Castiel  _ had been fucking fantastic.

Dean glances down at the angel in his arms and presses a soft kiss into the mess of dark hair at the crown. He doesn’t usually touch at all without permission, even to the point of holding back displays of affection, but in the case of Castiel he allows himself the one indulgent slip.

It’s not long - a few minutes, maybe - and the man in Dean’s arms begins to stir. He grunts and whimpers, and then there’s a sniffle and a sob and unexpectedly strong arms pulling him closer, clinging to him as though he’s some kind of lifeline.

Instinctively, Dean clings back. “Shhh, Angel. I got you,” he murmurs, and follows it up with more presses of his lips to a sweaty scalp and hairline. There’s movement against his shoulder - Castiel’s head, bobbing affirmatively - but the embrace doesn’t let up and so Dean just relaxes into it, letting himself be the means by which Castiel grounds himself.  _ Just hold me until I come down _ . It makes him smile in spite of the obviously hard drop his sub is enduring; Castiel had said the words, but they don’t seem to be quite correct. Castiel needs holding until he comes back  _ up _ .

Dean loses track of time, but it’s probably a solid hour before Castiel even moves in the embrace. Dean had drifted off just slightly, but he startles and clutches the sub close at the hint of movement, and glances down to find wide, puffy blue eyes staring back at him. He offers a half-smile, and it’s mirrored back at him, so he says softly, “Hi.”

“Hi.”

“I’d like to clean you up if that’s OK.”

Castiel’s brow furrows and he glances down at his body - covered with a fleece blanket, but still very much nude. He touches a hand to his face, where Dean’s cum from hours earlier is dry and pulling at his skin. “You didn’t… while I was out?”

“Didn’t want to leave you and break the contact,” Dean explains with a shrug. “Besides, your…  _ gentleman’s area _ needs attention, and I told you, I don’t touch without express permission.”

At those words, Castiel cracks up, doubling over into Dean’s middle as his body is racked with laughter. “Gentleman’s area? You mean my cock and balls.”

“I was trying to be civil,” Dean defends himself, but he’s laughing, too. “Unlike you, Chuckles, I have some sense of decorum.” There’s furthermore laughter at the endearment, and after a few seconds, Dean loses himself in it, too. They share the laugh like… well, like lovers who know each other far better than they ought to, considering their bond is all of five hours old. When Dean finally sobers, he does so with a clearing of his throat. “So. If it’s OK. I’d like to do that for you.”

“It’s… Dean.” Cas sobers, too, and meets him with a steely but satisfied look in his eyes. “Sir,” he says pointedly, widening his eyes and keeping contact to make the point.

“That’s not ne--”

“Sir,” Castiel repeats, clearly talking out of turn but really, Dean can’t focus on his submissive manners right now because it’s taking all of his energy not to lose his composure, “Yes, please. I’d… I’d appreciate your help.”

Dean nods, considering his options. “Come join me in the shower,” he finally says, and doesn’t give the sub a chance to respond before taking his hand and tugging him in the general direction of the bathroom. There’s no resistance. He warms the water and they settle into an embrace under the spray, not moving or speaking until Dean can’t resist a growl into Castiel’s ear. “If I hadn’t already cum twice, I’d have you on your knees right now, putting that pretty mouth of yours to good use.”

“I still could, if that’s what you’d like.”

Dean just shakes his head against the other man’s shoulder. “You’re incredible.” And without further preamble, he takes a washcloth and lathers it up. He washes Castiel reverently from head to toe, despite the fact that the man was clean when they began their scene and really only needed washing in a few key areas. He wanted to touch, to examine, to… who was he kidding? He wanted to do anything and everything he could to prolong their time together.

So naturally, when he’s finished and Castiel takes the washcloth and turns it on Dean, he makes no move to object. It’s service submission, and it’s fine, he thinks. But he’s a liar.

They stay under the spray until the water runs too cold for comfort, and then Dean wraps Castiel in a towel and dries him fully before attending to his own glistening gooseflesh.

It’s only when they’re both clean and dry and standing naked in the bathtub, Castiel looking at him with his bottom lip worried between his teeth, that Dean is at a loss for what to do next.

He knows what he  _ wants  _ to do.

He knows where that usually leads him.

He does it anyway.

His lips are on Castiel’s in a harsh heartbeat, kissing and sucking and licking and consuming until he’s out of breath and then he gasps in enough air to cover the submissive’s lips and cheeks and all the way back to his ear with urgent kisses.

“What…?”

“Stay. Please. Stay.”

“I just got out of a really bad relationship.”

“I don’t care.”

“I’m improperly trained. You said it yourself, I’m a brat, and you don’t like brats.”

Dean just shakes his head. Fuck it, he’s all in. “You’re a natural. You’re fantastic. And the things, the _ little _ things that I don’t like, well, fuck it, Castiel.” He captures those plump, perfect, kiss-bitten lips again until his own lungs are burning from lack of oxygen. “I’ll retrain you. I don’t give a fuck. I’m asking you to stay.”

“For how long?”

_ For forever. For a contract period. Just don’t leave. Please, not right now, not tonight, not ever. Let me collar you. Let me care for you. Just be mine. _ But that, he bites back. He’s been down this road so many times only to see it end badly. He has high hopes for Castiel. He does. But they both deserve a little more than rushing headlong into the wind, pretending like they have no baggage, pretending like they’re not just a little fucked up. So he says, “For the weekend?”

There’s a shy little smile at the floor, and a little nod that usher in, “I’d love to, Sir.” And Dean has to draw in a calming breath to keep himself from melting.

The honorary off those lips, in that voice… he could get used to that. But one thing at a time. “Join me in bed, Angel. We both need to rest because tomorrow, I intend to have my very wicked way with you. All day. Slowly. Until you come apart in my hands.”

“Is that a threat or a promise, Sir?”

“Oh, Angel. Believe me when I say… it’s both.”

***

Morning comes too early for Castiel… until he feels the Egyptian cotton sheets beneath him, and the press of a warm body curled around his back, and the mild sting reminiscent of a really good spanking. And then, yeah. Yeah, it can absolutely be morning.

He hurts in all the right ways and is warm in all the right places. When he glances over his shoulder, there’s a mischievous pair of sea-green eyes looking right back at him, and he smiles.

Those eyes widen and a look of expectation joins the mix. “I ordered breakfast, Sleeping Beauty. When it arrives, you’ll eat everything I place in front of you. And then I have plans for that beautiful body of yours. I promised to leave my mark, and I’ve yet to do a thorough job of that.”

Castiel lights up like the sun. He thinks about Balthazar, briefly, and wonders what he’s doing in lieu of being at Kinkfest. He thinks about yesterday, when he traveled here mostly to spite his former lover, who’d foolishly paid for the tickets and then left without taking them. He thinks about his goals for the weekend.

He considers them well met.

“Yes, Sir.”


End file.
